


home is where you rest your bones

by wretcheddyke



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: But we love her, Domesticity, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, First Time, Fluff and Smut, au where the doctor talks about her life, sonya being a dick, the khan family being chaotic, ugh it's so soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:47:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25995469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wretcheddyke/pseuds/wretcheddyke
Summary: When her family goes away to visit her Nani, Yaz invites the Doctor round to hers for more than just tea
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Comments: 16
Kudos: 122
Collections: Femslash After Dark 2020





	home is where you rest your bones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [clowncartardis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clowncartardis/gifts).



Yaz’s hands are sweaty when she slides her key into the lock. It’s the same familiar feeling as always, the judder of the key ridges bumping over the pin tumblers, rolling up her hand. It turns without jamming today and that must be a sign she’s doing the right thing.

“Y’want tea?” She asks as the door swings open. It’s quieter this time. No Ryan to chat to about living in Park Hill with. No family to fill the flat with talk and the smell of terrible cooking - they’re still away at her Nani’s in Skipton.

“Love some. Wouldn’t be tea at Yaz’s without tea,” the Doctor jokes and rocks on her feet a bit. Is she nervous too? That’s silly - the Doctor doesn’t do nervous.

“I’ll put kettle on. Y’mind taking your boots off?” Yaz knows full well what type of terrain those soles have seen.

The Doctor’s socks are pink with an Adidas logo on the side when she clumsily tugs her boots off, hopping on one foot. The way her toes wiggle into the carpet makes Yaz swallow.

“Are those my socks?” She asks with a frown, rather indignant at her thievery.

“What? Oh… Maybe,” she says and wiggles her toes again.“They were in my draw, TARDIS must’ve got confused. Do they suit me?”

“Probably a bit chavvy for you,” Yaz laughs.

“I could do chavvy. I could get one of those hats,” she grins and her face lights up at the idea. “Always keen on a hat, me. Not found one right for this body though.”

Yaz can’t help laughing at the image of the Doctor in a snapback and trackies. “Maybe stick to plumes,” she suggests.

“You’re right. More my style. I really should’ve taken Lord Byron’s with me,” she muses thoughtfully. Slipping off her coat, she chucks it haphazardly at the coat rack and ignores it when it falls to the floor, wandering off into the flat like she owns the place. It puts Yaz at ease somehow as she picks it up and hangs it properly, despite the fluttering of nerves in her belly.

The kettle rumbles and the Doctor leans up against the work surface, which is weird because she’d usually be snooping around. Yaz wishes she would say something. Go off on some tangent or another until Yaz calls her a liar and she has to insist with a joyous, infectious smile she’s being dead serious. Did Yaz invite her here to have sex? That’s really not the sort of thing that gets lost in translation in regular society but the Doctor is hardly normal.

The kettle clicks. Maybe she did ask her here to have sex but it simply slipped the Doctor’s mind. Maybe later on, after their tea, she’ll remember and suddenly get on with it. Is that how this sort of stuff works? Sex with aliens, that is. Sex with humans seemed to be far easier. Yaz slides a steaming mug over the counter and the Doctor takes a sip.

“You always make the best tea. Cuppa tea saved my life once,” she says matter-of-factly. “It’s the tannins - perfect for healing the synapses. That were back when I lost my arm on Christmas!” She beams at recalling the tidbit as if it were a fond memory.

“You lost your arm?!” Yaz asks, horrified. She even does a double-take to make sure the Doctor truly does have two arms and she’s not somehow got away with hiding a missing one this whole time.

“Yeah but it grew back,” the Doctor waves off her concern, drumming her long fingers on the work surface as evidence of their functionality. The act goes far beyond serving its purpose and Yaz feels her heart leap at the sight.

“You can grow limbs?” She asks, snapping her eyes up from her taunting hand. “I don’t know if I’m even surprised at this point.” She shakes her head and skirts past to head towards the sofa.

“Well, not on demand. It were more of a… still-being-made scenario. Lots of leftover regeneration energy,” she explains, hot on Yaz’s heels, following her into the lounge.

“Like when you fell into the train in Sheffield?”

“Exactly that,” she commends her deduction and Yaz feels a little skip of pride.

“Was this when you were the pretty one?” She asks with a smirk as she sits.

“ _Were?_ ” The Doctor asks with mock offence, bottom lip jutting out endearingly.

Yaz puts her tea down with a bubble of laughter. “Not sayin’ you still aren’t,” she adds and her heart beats in her chest. The Doctor’s looking at her like she wants to eat her and it makes Yaz fumble for her words. “Was that Bowtie or Fez?”

“No, Bowtie and Fez were the same one,” she corrects, jumping back into her story with frustrating ease. “This was Sandshoes.”

“Bloody hell. Have you ever had any fashion sense?” She teases, laughing at the way the Doctor’s jaw swings open.

She tuts loudly. “Excuse me, my last one were very cool. Used to wear a velvet coat and sunglasses.”

“That actually sounds quite hot,” Yaz concedes with a quirk of her eyebrow.

“I did look like a sixty-two year old man though,” she amends and Yaz snorts.

“Oh. Maybe not then,” she says and they both laugh at the honesty, the sound of their low chuckles filling the otherwise quiet room. “I think I like you as you are,” Yaz adds softly after a moment.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she nods. With a flutter of confidence, she plucks the Doctor’s mug from her hands and places it on the coffee table. Her heart races as she leans back. The Doctor’s body is slumped and she looks awkwardly still like she’s not sure what to do, swamped by the plush sofa cushions. Yaz twists a knee up and faces her. _I’m just gonna do it. I’m just gonna kiss her—_

“So y’family aren’t here…” The Doctor starts, barely a whisper.

“Nope. Not till tomorrow,” she says and her fingers fidget with the trouser seam at her knee. The air is hot about them and Yaz thinks if she doesn’t do _something_ she might suffocate in it.

“That’s good. I mean, not _good_ good. Just convenient. Or—”

“Doctor?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you wanna kiss me now?” She asks tentatively, unable to keep the nerves from her voice which she finds rather irritating.

“Yeah, I think so,” the Doctor breaths and her eyes drop to Yaz’s mouth.

“Whenever you’re—”

The Doctor surges forward all at once, pushing her lips against the corner of Yaz’s mouth and then readjusting. Neither of them know what to do with their hands until the Doctor’s land on Yaz’s knee and then they’re melting into one another.

Yaz opens her mouth when a tongue presses against her lip and it makes her stomach flip. She tastes like tea and smells like wood and something sweet. Yaz lets her hand find her hip and the Doctor must take that as some sort of signal because she pulls Yaz into her lap by the back of her knee.

Yaz pulls away with a gasp at the sudden change in position and she opens her eyes to see the Doctor beneath her. _I’m straddling the Doctor,_ she thinks. Then she’s aware of how open her legs are and how close her crotch is to the Doctor’s belly.

“We don’t have to—” The Doctor starts but Yaz cuts her off.

“No. I want to - if you want to?”

“I definitely want to,” the Doctor breathes with a smile and her eyes are wide. “Wanted to for ages.”

“Why didn’t you say earlier?” Yaz asks and tries to ignore the Doctor’s hands on her hips and how she wished they were on her skin.

“I dunno,” she shrugs. “I guess I thought you’d think I was creepy.”

“That’s a lot of thinking,” she says and the Doctor scrunches up her face and nods.

“Why didn’t you say anything? Assuming you felt the same.” She digs her fingertips into Yaz’s flesh impatiently.

“I didn’t think you liked humans like that. What if it were a huge taboo? I’d be so embarrassed,” she laughs. The vibrations jostle her body above the Doctor and she feels a pang of desire in her belly. She wants to press her thighs together but knows she can’t in this position. 

Instead, she dips back down to capture her lips in another kiss. _This is our third, now_ , she thinks. _I wonder how long I can keep track for._

Her tongue is warm and slippery over Yaz’s. The first two kisses were different: chaste, quick, nervous. This one is slow and deep and she can feel the Doctor’s tongue feeling the backs of her teeth. She not even sure if she likes it at first, it’s all wet and squirmy but then it makes Yaz’s toes curl when something twists in her belly and she decides she very much does.

Hands at the hem of her shirt break her from the kiss and when she pulls back the Doctor’s lips are wet and a little bit swollen. Surely that should be gross? All it inspires in her is a desire to lick them clean. Her shirt comes off over her head and the Doctor looks at her with stars in her eyes, raking them over the newly exposed skin.

“Your body is amazing,” she sighs in awe. “Trust me, I’ve had loads, I know about bodies.” Her thumbs graze across the rich brown skin at Yaz’s hip bones as if she’s testing the waters on where she’s allowed to touch.

“Yours—” Yaz starts and clears her throat. “I mean, I’ve not seen it but I’m sure yours is just—”

Before she can finish her sentence (and really, she’s relieved, having no idea how she was going to end it) the Doctor rips off her own shirts and sports bra in one go. She gets in a pickle when the fabric bunches around her head and Yaz bites her lip to stop her laugh. She soon recovers, flinging the items off to one side. Her face is flushed and her hair’s a mess when she looks back up with a chuffed grin.

“Oh,” Yaz swallows. Her breasts are small and her skin is pale and Yaz suddenly wants to scratch it. Wants to lick across it and bite it. Her nipples are pink and soft and right _there_ and Yaz should probably stop staring at them so much.

“Sorry, was that rude?” The Doctor asks and her hands hang limply at her sides on the sofa cushions.

“N-no—Um. No,” Yaz stutters. She pushes her mouth back against the Doctor’s when she finds it physically impossible to draw her eyes away. There’s a hand on hers, guiding her palm up towards the Doctor’s chest and then there’s a breast in her hand. It’s warm and so incredibly soft and Yaz can’t even think about kissing anymore. Her jaw hangs open above the Doctor’s and she whimpers a pathetic noise into her mouth at the sensation of a hardening nipple pressing into her palm.

She pulls back to look, holds both breasts in her hands and feels remarkably like a teenage boy. Her mouth is suddenly very dry and she licks her lips.

“Are they alright?” The Doctor asks.

“What?”

“I mean, y’don’t mind them?”

Yaz lets out a little laugh at how bizarre this conversation is. “I definitely don’t mind them,” she smiles and flicks her thumbs over her nipples. This, she’s pleased to learn, causes the Doctor abdominals to jump and she does it again, rubbing the pads of her thumbs across the hardened pink flesh.

“Oh, Yaz,” the Doctor sighs and presses her thighs together under Yaz. “That’s… that feels good.”

An idea pops into Yaz’s head and she decides it best not to overthink it before fear grabs her. She slides back on the Doctor’s lap, kissing her neck, her clavicle, her sternum. Her scent seems stronger there - earthy and fresh. How ironic for a woman not of Earth. The sofa is low to the ground and she kneels on the floor, her waist bracketed by the Doctor’s knees.

When she licks across a pebbled nipple, the Doctor’s hips jolt forwards. There’re fingers in her hair at the nape of her neck almost instantly. They grip at the wispy hairs as soon as Yaz sucks the flesh into her mouth, laving the sensitive spot with the flat of her tongue. She reaches a hand up and pinches her other nipple between her finger and thumb, teasing it gently.

“Oh, Yaz, Yaz, Yaz…” The Doctor sighs and squirms above her and she’s just about smirk, just about to pull away and ask some teasing question when she hears keys in the lock.

It jams this time— _thank you, Universe_ —and Yaz jumps backwards.

“Fuck!”

“What?” The Doctor looks bamboozled by the sudden retreat, her cheeks flushed from the stimulation. Yaz chucks her shirts at her head, covering her face for moment and yanks on her own.

“Quickly!” She scolds, yanking the Doctor’s arm and pulling her onto the floor with her so she’s shielded by the sofa back.

“Yaz? You home?” Hakim’s voice travels down the hall, the thundering rolls of his suitcase wheels following just behind. “Yaz?”

“Yeah! Hiya!” Yaz jumps up from the floor just as her three family members make it into the room. Her over-eager smile is causing a perplexed expression to claim Sonya’s face. The Doctor’s wriggling around in her periphery, just by her feet as she pulls on her shirts and Yaz tires to ignore the scene. “You’re back early?!”

The Doctor suddenly leaps up beside her like a magic trick— _The Marvellous Apparating Lady_ —and the three Khans jump at her abrupt emergence.

“Hi, Yaz’s fam!” She beams, her suspenders hanging around her trousers and her shirts rucked up, nipples hard beneath the soft fabric.

Yaz’s heart drops when she sees Sonya cover her mouth the stifle a laugh, clearly having immediately clocked the scenario before her. Yaz shoots a pleading look and holds her breath.

“Doctor,” Hakim starts. “Nice of you to keep Yaz company while we were away. Who’s for tea then?” He asks and Yaz breathes a sigh of relief at his obliviousness.

“Why—Why are you here?” Yaz asks and then rephrases. “I mean, is Nani okay?”

“She’s fine, Yaz. We just decided not to push it another night,” Najia says, coming up to give her a kiss on the cheek.

When she makes her way towards them, Yaz spots the Doctor’s bra on the floor. She shoots the Doctor a panicked look and she quickly kicks it under the sofa.

“What’ve you been up to?” Her mum asks sweetly.

“Yeah, Yaz, enjoyed yourself, have you?” Sonya flops back onto the opposite sofa with a smug face.

“Um—Yeah. We were just…” Yaz’s brain goes blank as she looks at the Doctor’s ruffled hair and pink cheeks.

“Gonna watch a movie! Right?” The Doctor leaps in. “Just a normal, twenty-first-century movie,” she assures them and Yaz winces at their confused frowns.

“I thought it were 20th Century Fox?” Sonya asks over her phone with a perplexed frown.

“What?” The Doctor asks, equally confused.

“Like Disney, right?”

“Sure! Love Disney,” she smiles.

“I hate Disney,” Sonya claims, suddenly bored of the mystifying conversation and letting her eyes drift back to her phone.

“Oh,” the Doctor mutters and looks up at Yaz slightly bashful. They’re stood around awkwardly and Yaz can feel the Doctor’s bra burning a hole in the back of her ankle from under the sofa.

“Now, we’ve had chippy but have you two eaten?” Hakim diverts the attention off them as he wanders back into the lounge with tea.

“Bet Yaz has,” Sonya snorts without looking up.

Yaz feels her heart drop and splutters for her words when she senses Najia about to ask her what she means. “Um! No! Well, we were just gonna order take away, actually.”

“Oo, like a Chinese!” The Doctor claps suddenly. “I’ve not had a Chinese in ages. Well, not since Bill’s place was haunted by space woodlouse anyway.” Yaz tries to shoot her a scolding _‘stop being such an alien’_ face but she’s far too oblivious to notice.

“Haunted by what?” Najia asks with a puzzled frown, leaning forward in her seat.

“I’ve got the menu somewhere,” Hakim says, ferreting about in the coffee table draw. “What’s your usual, Doctor?”

“I’ll sort it! Thanks, Dad,” Yaz snatches the menu from his hand before the Doctor can order a plate of space worms. She grabs her hand begins to drag the Doctor away into the kitchen.

“Wait, Yaz what film are we watching?” Najia calls before she can make her exit and she clenches her fists with frustration.

“Um—Anything you like, we hadn’t decided yet!” She replies and then kicks herself for having sealed her fate. Movie night with her family with a chatty, alien, braless, horny Doctor sat next to her. Brilliant.

* * *

Two hours later, Yaz is sat squished between Hakim and the Doctor with her near-finished dinner on her lap. The Doctor keeps stealing noodles off of her plate (she’d scolded her with a gooey smile the first time and then felt Sonya’s disgusted glare from across the room so decided not to again) which is troublesome since the Doctor’s stomach seems to mimic the internal dimensions of the TARDIS.

The room is dim, illuminated by the glow of the TV screen playing _Mary Poppins Returns_ and the darkness gives them an element of privacy Yaz is eternally grateful for when she manages to snatch glimpses of the Doctor’s enthralled face.

“Ha! CGI was a bit dodgy when this came out, weren’t it,” the Doctor says, picking up a wiggling noodle with her fingers and putting it in her mouth. It’s gross and impolite and Yaz grins knowing Najia probably hates it. Their thighs press together and Yaz feels the contact burn through her jeans. She’s desirous of nothing but to slip her leg back over the Doctor’s lap and kiss her and pinch her nipples and grind against her and—

“I thought this was a new one?” Najia asks, the talking bird on screen reflected in her glasses.

Yaz’s lewd thoughts and the flyaway hairs about the Doctor’s temples means she fails to register her blunder and it takes her a moment to catch up. “Oh, she’s just kidding,’ she blurts. “Aren’t you, Doctor? You and your jokes.”

“Right, yeah. Not like they make three more Mary Poppinses—Mary Poppi?—this century. That’d be ridiculous,” she laughs and then winces upon seeing Yaz shaking her head.

Sonya looks across over the pillow in her arms. “Weirdo,” she mutters under her breath, just loud enough to be heard over the music.

“Enough of that, Sonya,” Hakim warns. “Now, I just don’t trust this Jack character at all.”

“Right you are, Yaz’s dad! Never trust a chimney sweep,” the Doctor advises deadly seriously. Placing their empty plates on the coffee table, she shifts her feet under herself and rests her knees in Yaz’s lap. One hand snakes around the back of the sofa until they’re curled up together, her body warm against Yaz’s. Her breast presses into the side of Yaz’s shoulder, feeding the wanton thoughts that rattle her mind.

Yaz freezes. She doesn’t dare take her eyes off the fluorescent pixels lest she come face to face with a curious stare from one of her family members. Warmth radiates off the Doctor and all Yaz can do it swelter beneath it. She takes a steady breath and her hands lay in her lap like ornaments. _Maybe I should do something with them?_ She thinks. But all that comes to mind is shoving them under the Doctor’s shirt or maybe into her own underwear.

“That’s just beautiful,” Najia muses to herself and Yaz tenses until she notices she’s shedding a tear at Mary Poppins’ departure. Najia famously cries at films just as frequently as Yaz falls asleep to them.

“You’ve gotta be kidding,” Sonya shakes her head when she sees Najia wiping her cheeks.

“I just think it’s a lovely sentiment!” She sniffs. “We could all do with a Mary Poppins, I’d of loved to have her as a nanny.”

“I’m telling Nani y’said that,” Sonya laughs.

Yaz chuckles at her sister’s jibes and looks over to see the Doctor watching their interaction intently. Her face is a wide-open and she looks like she’s studying them both, trying to understand the way they communicate. Maybe she’s committing them to a file deep her brain amongst other wild memories she’ll never let go of.

“I think she’d of loved me to have a Mary Poppins too, save having to look after me,” Najia laughs.

“I thought she liked being a mum?” Yaz asks. Umbreen had been so loving when she’d met her in Pakistan, it made Yaz curious as to what she’d been like after the events that took place that day.

“Course she did. She just always thought she was cursed. Can still hear her shouting upstairs to me ‘Beti, no trouble today!’ before I’d even brushed me teeth,” Najia smiles fondly at the memory and Yaz recalls hearing the same words throughout her own childhood.

Her heart aches in an unusual way when the Doctor sends her a look of understanding. They were both there for Hasna’s warnings about her cursed marriage — Yaz hates that her words left such a mark generations down the line. She’s glad she doesn’t have to explain that to the Doctor and finds comfort in the gentle squeeze she gives her shoulder. Their faces a close and she wants to kiss her.

“Right, anyone for mango? It’s today or tomorrow or it’ll be going over,” Hakim says, rising from the sofa.

“Nah, thanks. I’m going to bed,” Sonya announces as she stands. “Staying the night, Doctor?” She smiles sickly sweet at Yaz, causing her to clench her jaw.

“Oh, um—” The Doctor looks round in a panic, jaw flapping and cheeks blowing out.

“N—She was actually—”

“Don’t let us put you off staying the night, Doctor. You’re more than welcome, isn’t she love?” Hakim looks to Najia.

“Wait, really?” Yaz looks between her parents to suss out the punchline. She’s never had anyone stay the night before and Najia had always made it clear she never would unless there were wedding bells on the horizon - but then, she supposes, that was when she was seventeen.

“Course, Yaz. It’s no problem to get the sofa bed out,” Najia looks up from her phone over her glasses, not an ounce of humour in her face.

“Right…” Yaz starts. “Yeah, the sofa bed.”

“Think the Doctor’s probably a bit past sleeping top and tail, aye?” Hakim gives a warm smile and Yaz suddenly realises how poorly they’ve understood the situation. She was just settling into the idea of never having to _tell them_ about her and the Doctor—she’s already come out once—but gender no longer seems to be the issue. _They think she’s too old for me_ , Yaz thinks.

“Absolutely love a sofa bed. Who doesn’t love a sofa bed? Marvellous feats of engineering, they are,” the Doctor beams up at Hakim, all courtesy and enthusiasm.

“Up you get then, I’ll set it up,” Hakim shifts them from the cushions and the Doctor uncurls herself from Yaz’s side like a tamed house cat. _Seriously, can I make it anymore bloody obvious?_

She spots Sonya struggling to hold back a laugh as she takes her mug into the kitchen and Yaz follows with their plates.

“Better luck next time,” she laughs when they reach the kitchen.

“Shut up,” Yaz says with a roll of her eyes.

“Y’think they’re still gonna like her so much when they realise she’s a weird milf shagging their daughter?”

“Oh, come off it, Son,” Yaz scolds as loud as she can without drawing attention across the open-plan flat. She can see the Doctor nodding firmly at Najia’s theories on how to open the sofa bed and it warms her heart a little bit.

“How old is she, really? It is a bit weird, Yaz.”

_If only you knew._ “She’s not that old!” Yaz attempts to defend herself but the lie clearly doesn’t hold when Sonya gives her a look. “She’s like… thirty-two.” Another look crumbles her facade. “Alright fine she’s thirty-seven.”

“Oh my god, Yaz. That’s like… my whole life older than you.”

Yaz shoots her a confounded look. “What are you—?”

“Yaz? Is this yours?”

Yaz looks up to firstly see a very red Doctor with an awful grimace on her face. Her father, just to her left, looks entirely enthralled with the mechanisms of the sofa and to her right is her mother holding up a white sports bra between her fingers.

Yaz feels her legs go wobbly at the sight. There’s a sudden ringing in her ears as if a bomb had just gone off and she feels devoid of her usual vocabulary. _Stop being silly._

“Oh, that’s my bad. Thought I’d put that in wash.” A voice crosses the room from an unknown source. _Am I saying that?_ “Took it off after PE the other day - bloody sick of them making us do cross country. Like, how is that not child abuse?”

Sonya marches across the flat and grabs the Doctor’s bra out of Najia’s hand and all Yaz can do is stare in astonishment as it swings from her fingers.

“Darling, you’re eighteen and you chose to do sports science. You can’t keep using that one forever,” Najia says with a shake of her head as she watches Sonya go.

She shoots Yaz a look that says ‘ _you owe me free McDonald’s for three months and first pick for movie night forever’_ on her way out. Yaz lets out a shaky breath.

“Tell you what, I might sleep on here myself,” Hakim grins, testing out the mattress. Yaz swears she’s only ever seen the thing used twice - she swears Hakim says the same thing every time, too.

“I’ll get you fresh sheets and towels. If you’d like a shower, Yaz’ll show you,” Najia smiles warmly.

A glint of something mischievous dashes across the Doctor’s eyes when she looks at Yaz. “That’d be great, love a hot shower,” she says with a smirk.

_She wants to have sex with me in the shower._

“And Yaz’ll get you some jamas,” Najia nods to her room with a face that tells her she’s being rude and it jolts Yaz from her thoughts.

“Right, yeah,” she says and scuttles off to her room. This is really not how she’d envisioned the evening but here she is treating the Doctor like she’s an esteemed guest. _They must think she’s a real medical doctor_ , some passing thought tells her.

She thinks about giving her the pyjamas dotted with cartoon birds. They’d definitely suit her best and light up her face with a pleased grin. Yaz can hear her now, deadly serious: ‘ _Absolutely love birds, laying eggs and flying, amazing._ ’ But she’s feeling selfish. The gold silk camisole and matching shorts call out to her. She is a respectable woman, after all, only the best for the Doctor.

She’s sat awkwardly on the made bed when Yaz returns, Najia rushing about her collecting all sorts of necessities. Yaz spots a new toothbrush still in the packet in her hand and cringes.

“It’s the best we can do with the windows,” Hakim says from where he’s stood balanced on the back of the other sofa, hanging a sheet over the blind rail while Yaz watches in horror. “Light pollution these days is just awful. I’ve written to the council about it but you know what they’re like: utterly useless.”

“Really, I’ll sleep anywhere,” the Doctor assures him as he hops down with a huff. Yaz wonders how she’s managed to dig herself into such a cavernous hole. She hands the Doctor her chosen pyjamas and watches the alien’s eyebrows raise slightly and it makes Yaz’s heart skip a beat.

“Well, you know where the kettle is for the morning—”

“Um—Yeah. The Doctor probably won’t stay long… in the morning, I mean,” Yaz stutters. “Busy day tomorrow, right Doctor?”

“Oh yeah. Busy, busy day. Loads of things I wanna do.” Her voice is low and her eyes are dark and the hidden meaning makes Yaz swallow thickly.

“Right, well. We’ll let you get to sleep then!” Hakim pats the bed one last time. They all stand and nod politely for a moment until Yaz realises they’re expecting her to leave too.

“Erm, yeah. Night, Doctor,” she raises a hand and quickly drops it when she decides waving is probably not proper in this situation. With a curt nod, she turns and leads her parents out the lounge. _What the fuck am I doing?_

* * *

Yaz successfully tries not to masturbate in the shower. She brushes her teeth and moisturises and puts on her pyjamas, all with trembling hands. The mere knowledge of the Doctor’s presence in the other room sets her on edge. _What if she’s left?_ She thinks _. No, that’s silly. She wouldn’t just leave._

She sits on the foot of her bed and watches the clock. Her parents are upstairs but she’ll have to pass Sonya’s door to get back to the lounge. _12:38am._ Her skin is warm and her heart’s beating too quickly and she’s already wet _. Fuck it._

She creeps down the hallway, bare feet on the cold wood. The lights are off but when she rounds the corner the lounge is illuminated by the city lights, despite Hakim’s best efforts with the sheet. The fridge hums and the tap drips and she can hear the cars outside coughing and spluttering in the night.

“Doctor?” She whispers.

When she rounds the back of the sofa, the Doctor is half propped up against the pillows above the covers. She’s wearing the silk garments and her long pale legs are crossed at the ankles as she lazes. Her eyes catch amber glitters from the streetlights outside - she looks warm and soft and inviting, a smug little smile on her face. 

“I think they suit me,” she whispers as Yaz takes in the view, her mouth suddenly dry.

“I think they do, too,” Yaz agrees and climbs on to the soft mattress, crawling up to straddle her thighs once again.

“Are we okay to… I mean, are we allowed—?”

“No,” Yaz whispers and dips down to kiss her mouth. Her lips are unbelievably supple and warm, Yaz is desirous of nothing but to live basking in the feel of them. “I don’t care,” she smiles.

“Okay,” she sighs and nods a little. “Okay, good. That’s good.” She looks down to Yaz’s pyjama-clad knees bracketing her hips and rests her hands there. “I love birds,” she mutters and Yaz chuckles. “What?”

“Nothing,” she says. “Kiss me again?”

Her tongue feels golden and hot and Yaz melts into her like liquid metal. She sinks her hands into blonde hair and draws out a satisfying hum when she scratches her scalp. Yaz makes it her mission then to out as many noises from the Doctor as possible.

She pulls back to remove her own pyjama top and that’s a bold move because she’s not wearing a bra. The Doctor’s eyes go wide like she’s taking in a new planet when she sees Yaz’s breasts and then she’s sitting up to kiss her clavicle.

“You look like a painting,” she whispers into the skin. Yaz’s belly aches with the feeling of her nipples grazing against the Doctor’s silk camisole.

“Take this off,” she commands, playing with the hem, feeling suddenly exposed.

It slips off easily and when the Doctor lays back against the quilt, the dim lights add contrast to her contours that make her look to be carved from marble. Her ribs protrude and the silver-blonde hairs on her skin glitter like spider’s silk. Yaz could stare at her forever.

Her fingers trace down the line of her sternum. The Doctor’s chest rises and falls beneath it, coming up to greet her like the sea kisses the shore. It’s gentle, hardly there, a ghost’s touch. When she skims across the soft expanse of her belly, a chill spills across the pale flesh. Is it odd she should react so similar to a human?

She repeats the motion again, tickling with her fingertips and then switching so her nails scratch. The Doctor squirms but doesn’t protest. Yaz can feel her fighting her own impatience, fists twitching at her sides in a nervous tick. She dips off course, across her breast and over her nipple but she doesn’t linger. She carries on down to her side as if it were purely accidental and she never noticed the Doctor’s breath hitch.

Her abdominals twitch when Yaz scratches just below her navel.

“Can I take these off?” She asks, sliding her fingers under the hem of her shorts.

“Um, yeah.” She pauses and glances slowly at Yaz’s pyjamas. “Can you take yours off?”

“Oh, yeah. Course,” she says and finds it oddly sweet she wants an even playing field. She feels stupid sitting on her arse to slide her pyjamas down her legs. The Doctor seems to manage it much more elegantly, and that’s really saying something. But then suddenly she’s naked and so is the Doctor and any inhibition she thought she possessed is vanished.

Yaz is on her before she knows it, pushing into her, their bodies flush and their skin touching and _fuck_. She’s warm and alive and it flows into Yaz from all the places they touch. Their tummies, their hips, their breasts. Yaz sucks on the tongue in her mouth and the wet spot on her upper lip makes her shudder. Who knew contact could feel like a cure?

She pushes her knee between the Doctor’s legs because she’s allowed to do that now and the hair is softer than she expected. She pushes down and she feels the vibrations of a moan billowing from her chest as she grinds up to greet her. Wetness smudges across her thigh— _fuck, she’s wet, fuck._

The Doctor rolls her until they’re both on their sides, their legs wrapped around each other like links in a chain. Her arms are tight around Yaz’s body and she doesn’t stop kissing her or rubbing herself across her thigh - Yaz has never been to utterly consumed by someone before.

She groans when Yaz flicks her thumb over her nipple.

“Can you do that again… like earlier?” She asks tentatively.

“With…?”

“Your mouth - yeah,” she nods. Yaz didn’t expect her to be so hesitant asking her to suck her nipples but then she supposes she would be, too.

Her skin tastes faintly salty when Yaz’s kisses turn to licks. She has flashes of awkward, exhilarating embarrassment pass through her whenever the reality of what she’s doing solidifies in her mind - but it’s soon melted by the formidable heat of her desire. The woman beneath her groans and thrashes as her teeth pull gently at her nipple - careful not to bite too harshly.

“Is that good?” She asks when she pulls back to watch her face. It’s cracked down the middle with pleasure, the line between her eyebrows so close to an expression of pain as Yaz twists her wet nipples between finger and thumb. She pulls them away from her body and the small gasp when her grip slips sends a shiver down her spine - it’s the only reply she needs.

“Touch me? Please? Please touch me,” the Doctor sighs, her voice full of a certain sense of desperation.

Yaz slides her hand down the smooth skin of her abdomen - it’s soft and tacky with sweat and warm and alive. Her fingers are instantly covered in a slick wetness when she cups her, the soft hair brushing against her palm. The Doctor’s eyes close when she rubs her fingers through her, spreading her around - she’s so wet Yaz can hardly tell what’s what.

A shaky hand grabs her shoulder and Yaz leans forward to kiss her neck.

They both moan when Yaz slips inside her, so easily it could’ve been accidental. A leg hooks itself around Yaz’s hip and draws her in closer and the Doctor’s hips start to shift in rhythm with Yaz’s hand.

“Oh, Doctor,” she breathes into her neck. “You feel so good.”

It’s easier somehow, not looking at her. Just breathing in the scent of sex and skin and feeling her flutter around her fingers in enough for now - even that has Yaz feeling as if she might succumb to a heart attack.

_“Yaz,”_ she squeaks through the tightness in her throat, high pitched and dripping with despair. Yaz has never heard her so unfurled as the claw on her shoulder grips down harder.

“Are you okay?” She asks, pulling back to study her face.

She nods her head frantically, her eyes shut tight. “It’s so much - my hearts are out of sync,” she pants.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she smiles. “Move your hips faster.”

Yaz guides her pelvis with her left hand, speeding up the rolling of her hips as she fucks into her faster. She can’t hear the fridge humming anymore - only the quick breaths between them and the wet slaps around her fingers. It only serves to encourage her. She moves her thumb up so it presses against her clit with every motion and that draws out a guttural, primal sound from her chest.

She’s about to say something—some sweet compliment or command of some kind—but the Doctor hips suddenly falter and Yaz can feel her cunt clenching down around her fingers.

“Oh, Yaz,” she whines and her head drops forward against Yaz’s shoulder. She pants and shudders, grip on her shoulder tightening to a near painful level before she stills. “That was—I didn’t mean for that to happen so quickly.”

Yaz chuckles into the blonde hair under her nose as the Doctor rests her face against her. “That was hot,” she whispers. “Like, really really hot,” she insists as she encourages her face back by brushing her hair behind her ear, “I could watch you do that all night.”

“Could happily oblige that,” she grins in the dark and Yaz can just make out how flushed she is.

“Yeah?” She smirks and pushes the Doctor over until she’s on her back again. “Get ready then,” she kisses into her skin and then cringes at her word choice. _Bit eager that one, Yaz._

She settles herself between the Doctor spread knees, resting on the backs of her thighs while she kisses her - rubbing the flats over her fingers over her clit in excruciatingly slow circles. She hums when the Doctor’s hips start to rock beneath her.

“Ready?”

“Yeah,” she smiles and fiddles with the end of Yaz’s braid in anticipation. She grunts when Yaz pushes three fingers inside her, stroking her inside in a maddening display of expertise.

She starts a steady rhythm, deep and strong but not quite fast enough to make her come. She revels in the look at desperation painted across the Doctor’s face. She’s looking right at her this time and the Doctor looks right back, vision cloudy with the desire thrumming through her.

When her eyes finally slide shut and her head falls back against the pillows, Yaz grins and dips back down to kiss her neck. She can feel the quick pace of a double pulse beneath her tongue.

“Could you… go lower?” She pants.

Yaz pulls back from her clavicle to look her and frowns at the sheepish expression on her face.

“What like..?”

“Yeah - but just one,” she adds as if that makes it less debauched. “Unless you don’t want to. S’just old habits.”

“No it’s fine - I’ve just never done that before,” Yaz confesses and realises her fingers have stopped and she’s just sitting inside her. She pulls out and looks between them as if that might provide some answers. “Do you want… both?”

“Well, yeah you just…” She brings her hand round to show Yaz a position like she’s teaching her how to play the guitar. “…And then the thumb goes—”

“Right yeah, got it. Thanks,” she cuts her off before her vision fades to an inky blackness and she passes out completely.

Settling back on her knees between the Doctor’s legs, she’s glad the darkness envelopes them enough her failing confidence isn’t so visible on her face. She strokes the soft skin of her inner thighs and makes a note to bite them later, spreading her gently. Her cunt glistens with wetness and it makes Yaz’s mouth water.

Shaking off her nerves, she strokes through her folds a few times, collecting the wetness that resides there before dipping down to circle her. The Doctor instantly tenses at the intimate contact and that relaxes Yaz’s nerves some.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” she forewarns.

“Please don’t ever stop,” she whines back and Yaz chuckles.

She hums like she’s just tasted the sweet nectar of a crimson streaked fruit as Yaz sinks her middle finger inside her. She’s silky and welcoming and warm and tight and Yaz swallows - feels herself overcome with a desire dragging her downward.

It’s wet and the slight flutterings of her muscles around her drive her insane. She can see the Doctor twitching with every thrust before she pushes her thumb up against her cunt, circling it before dipping inside.

There’s a dreamlike quality to the whole thing and some ringing voice in the back of Yaz’s head won’t let go of the surprise that she’s allowed to be doing this. _I mean, technically I’m not,_ she thinks when she remembers where she is.

“Fuck, Yaz,” the Doctor mewls and Yaz wonders if that’s the first time she’s heard her swear or if it’s just the neediness that permeates the word that makes it so noticeable.

She bends her thumb and pushes the knuckle up until she’s rubbing against a spot inside that makes the Doctor’s breath catch in her throat - it’s not an easy feat and her hand is already aching with the usual position.

“Can you feel me, Doctor?” She asks in a hushed tone.

It’s a question she’d learnt from the first erotic novel she’d downloaded onto her iPod touch as a teenager. Skimping out into the hall at 1 am to connect to the wifi in nothing but an oversized t-shirt. _Can you feel me?_ It had made her come back then and cropped up in most of her fantasies ever since.

“Yeah… Yaz… Yes, I can feel you,” the Doctor groans her response.

Yaz seems to lose track of all sense of time and space in that moment - not an unusual phenomenon for her these days but not while she’s home. The green digital clock on the oven flashes a number over the back of the sofa but it could be in an alien script for all Yaz knows. All she can focus on is the feeling of filling her and hearing her needy gasps.

“Please,” she gasps suddenly. Yaz isn’t sure if it’s even to her or if she’s pleading with some universal force. “I wanna come,” she groans. 

Yaz swallows, she’ll never get used to hearing such explicit words from the Doctor. She moves the hand bearing her weight—opting to sit back on her calves—and rubs the pad of her thumb over the Doctor’s clit. This seems to send her instantly spiralling towards an unstoppable end, her moans getting louder and her hips rolling frantically. Yaz fears she might wake Sonya or her parents upstairs so she smothers her mouth with a kiss. It’s awkwardly balanced and she hopes she comes quickly because Yaz can’t hold her own weight like this for long.

Her lower back strains with the effort as her fingers pump and stroke faster and faster.

“Oh, Yaz, oh, fuck,” she curses one last time before her body shakes below Yaz. She crumbles, mouth gaping in a silent scream.

Yaz can feel her coming around her hands, wet and fluttering and she knows if she had the slightest bit of contact herself she’d be right there with her.

“How was that?” She asks once she’s pulled out.

“Amazing,” the Doctor pants contentedly, her chest as flushed as her cheeks. “Kiss?” She asks with her eyes shut and Yaz complies eagerly, planting a wet one on her lips. “Can I do that to you now?” She asks when Yaz pulls back.

Yaz nods slowly with an intoxicated smile and then backtracks. “Well, I mean maybe not… there,” she reasons.

“Okay,” the Doctor grins and sits up, bouncing like an eager puppy.

“Also, I need to wash my hands,” Yaz smiles and kisses her once, then twice and then three times before sliding off the bed to the kitchen sink. It’s weird tiptoeing through her flat completely naked but it gives her a thrill nonetheless. She washes her hands as quickly as she can in the dark, making awkward eye contact with the chicken on her dad’s egg timer as she drys them on a fresh tea towel.

The Doctor is waiting patiently on the bed when she sneaks up behind her, tilting her head back on the sofa to look up at Yaz. She wraps her arms around her shoulders and sinks her nose into the crook of her neck.

“Hi,” she whispers into the familiar scent.

“You’re on the wrong side,” she smiles devilishly as she looks up at Yaz and Yaz pushes her hair away from her face. She just getting lost in those hazel eyes, beautiful even upside down when the Doctor juts her chin up for a spider-man style kiss. It’s all a lure, however, when deceptively strong arms wrap around her waist and drag her inelegantly over the back of the sofa.

In a tumble of arms and legs (Yaz is eternally grateful no one but she will witness lest they get an eyeful), she’s spun over the cushions with a raucous giggle. She lands on her back with her head near off the end of the bed, the city lights glittering upside-down outside the window where the sheet has fallen.

“Shhh,” the Doctor chides, pouncing on her before she can move. “You’ll get me in trouble.”

“Nothing new there then,” she smirks up at her, her blonde hair falling down around her face, scruffy and beautiful.

She responds by licking across Yaz’s clavicle and that shouldn’t make her squirm as much as it does. Peppering little kisses down her sternum until she reaches her breasts, she pushes them together and sucks emphatically on her nipple. It’s so confident, so self-assured and brazen and so _Doctor_ , Yaz loses her breath.

She pulls off with a little pop and then licks across her hard nipple. “Now bare with me,” she says into her flesh, her breath chilling the wetness on her skin. “I haven’t done this in a few hundred years.”

Yaz can’t help chuckling at the confession, her apparent self-consciousness juxtaposing the fierce confidence of her actions. “I’m sure you’ll be… excellent,” she sighs as teeth scrape her other nipple and a thumb rubs circles over the wet one. A decently positioned pillow could make her come right now.

“I mean, really not since I were on New Guinea,” she mutters into Yaz belly as she starts shuffling down or, she supposes, up the bed. “Now that were a laugh.” When she reaches her inner thigh, she bites. Yaz sucks in a gasp at the sharp pain and then it’s all hot and fuzzy. _I was gonna do that_ , she thinks briefly. “The planet, not the country,” she adds as she licks over the probable bruise.

Yaz’s brain is entirely fogged over with desire, the anticipation of the Doctor’s tongue sending trembles through her. Her words are a mere echo in the room as she tries to focus. “I had a Guinea pig as a kid,” she breathes absentmindedly but the words and thoughts are lost when a wet tongue glides right through her. “Oh, fuck,” she sighs and grabs at the sheets.

The Doctor’s hand rests on her belly as if to sense the contracting of her muscles as feedback. She licks up the left side of her labia and sucks gently on the skin there, teasing and coy, before pulling away.

“Y’shoulda seen the size of the cucumbers they have there,” she recalls with a sense of astonishment. Some voice in Yaz’s head wonders if she’s talking about Guinea pigs or having sex but she’s too far gone to give the context much analysis. She thinks it best not to ask.

Yaz groans in frustration at her premature departure, wiggling her hips against the air in the hopes of some friction. She shoots her impatient yet pleading look and the Doctor seems to get back into it with a nod.

The tongue is swiftly returned to her cunt and Yaz swears she’ll snap if she looses focus again. She need not worry, however, as the Doctor takes her clit into her mouth, emphatically swirling her tongue over the sensitive spot.

Yaz nearly screams when she sucks and has to cover her own mouth with her palm.

“Can I go inside you?” The Doctor asks from between her thighs and all Yaz can do is nod frantically.

Two fingers circle her gently, testing how easily Yaz will take her. When she slips inside the Doctor makes a strained little noise against her clit that Yaz memorises for later use - other than that, her mind empties. As if placed in a ghostly white void, the room disappears and the only feeling is the Doctor.

Her fingers are determined, merciless but not cruel. They stroke inside her, coaxing out the pleasure as one might an untamed animal. She soothes it and nurtures it with the bold tips of her fingers. Her tongue works in tandem, licking and sucking at the flesh hungrily.

Yaz starts to panic that she’s too wet and is going to make a mess of the sheets but the Doctor muttering a strained “you taste amazing” into her sees the worries dashed and divided. She grips tight against the cotton sheets as if they might function as a life raft in the ocean swells of her pleasure, knuckles paling in the dark.

“Oh, god, Doctor…” She gasps, the peak of her desire surging, almost peaking, so almost peaking. “I’m gonna come,” she groans and the Doctor curls her fingers upwards.

It flows through her in wave after wave, drowning her in the intensity of it all. Her back arches and her thighs tremor, splaying open as her hips roll. Her teeth sink into the fleshy part of her hand as she smothers her orgasmic cry.

The Doctor doesn’t stop, she barely slows. Instead, she pulls her mouth away with a final kiss on her wet clit and crawls up her body. Yaz’s head is still hanging off the end of the bed slightly and it perfectly primes her neck for the Doctor’s zealous teeth. She licks the full length of her neck with the flat of her tongue as she continues to fuck into her. Biting into the flesh, teeth scraping and then sucking.

“Fuck,” Yaz squeaks as she feels the pleasure begging to build again.

“I am doin,” the Doctor grins and plants a kiss under her chin. She’s using her own hips to thrust her fingers into Yaz, faster and faster every time - Yaz has never been fucked like this in her life. Her free hand slides behind Yaz’s back and holds her shoulder, a reverse force on her body to stop the Doctor jostling her off the end of the bed.

“Look at me,” she asks sweetly, voice breathless from her exertion.

When Yaz looks up, she’s haloed with messy blonde hair. Her face is to the window, just illuminated enough for Yaz to see the clear flush about her cheeks and her dilated pupils. Her panting breaths mingle with Yaz’s. That final image, the image of the Doctor fucking her so wholly, is what sends her over the edge a second time.

She keeps her eyes open as long as possible, mouth stretched into an ‘ _o’_ shape, and she knows the Doctor can see the pleasure ripple through her irises when she falters and her eyebrows raise a fraction in awe. And then the room is dark and her head is lolling back and she is succumbing, in her entirety, to her unravelling.

When her cunt finally stops fluttering and her body goes floppy, the Doctor pulls out and yanks Yaz up the bed by her hips so she can rest her head more comfortably.

“Y’okay?” She asks, laying on top of her.

“Yeah,” Yaz breathes happily, letting the afterglow warm her bones.

The Doctor’s wet hand is laying on the sheets next to them and Yaz bolsters the courage to grab her wrist and guide it to her mouth. She kisses each fingertip tentatively, studying the Doctor’s enthralled expression as she does so. Lifting her head slightly, she draws the Doctor’s index finger into her mouth, wrapping her tongue around the digit and tasting herself there.

The Doctor’s eyes are impossible wide as she watches Yaz take her finger in her mouth, sucking and humming so the vibrations radiate up the bone. She brings in another finger and then another until they stretch her lips and smudge saliva about her mouth.

“Oh, Yasmin Khan…” She sighs, eyes as black as coal. She knows she’s imagining Yaz taking her cock so well in her mouth like this as she rhythmically bobs her head to suck on the digits. The flat of her tongue wriggles against her fingers, tasting the saltiness.

“Lay back,” she commands once she pulls off with a little wet pop.

The Doctor doesn’t mess about, shuffling back in a hurried, rather amusing manner and spreading her knees hopefully once her head hits the pillow. Yaz might’ve made a lighthearted tease for her neediness but her cunt is spread right before her and words escape her.

She licks her thigh and finally bites there and the Doctor gasps as her teeth sink in until she tastes metal under her tongue. The aroma of her cunt is all-encompassing when Yaz finally pushes her nose against the soft hair. She pushes her tongue through her, the salty wetness making her mouth water.

The Doctor squirms and wraps her fingers around Yaz braid. She’s not forceful but she grips tight and brings Yaz closer in, desperate for more. Her hips roll against Yaz mouth as she uses her to grind against.

“Oh, Yaz, Yaz,” she breathes.

Yaz reaches a spare hand up her body, scratching across her belly as she fumbles about blind and then pinches her nipple. Her tongue sinks inside her cunt, a firm rock melting and merging with lava rivers. She feels the Doctor clench around her when her fingers pluck and tug at hardened flesh, her chest heaving. She tastes piquant and lovely. 

Anchoring herself on boney hips, she sucks until the Doctor comes on her tongue with a river of nectar. It’s particularly loud and Yaz cringes digs her nails into her hips to try and shut her up but it hardly works.

When the Doctor finally settles, Yaz slides up the bed and flops down beside her, utterly spent.

“You’re rubbish at being quiet,” she scolds in the dark, curling into her side.

“So are you!” The Doctor tuts, voice laced with mock offence. She doesn’t sound tired at all but Yaz’s eyes are already sliding shut as she chuckles.

She feels the Doctor grab the side of the duvet and wrap it around their intertwined bodies, swaddling Yaz in the warm quilt. Despite her best efforts, she quickly sinks into an endless realm, devoid of gravity and fear, sailing gently on the rhythm of twin hearts. She dreams about a far-stretching meadow and a warm hand in hers.

* * *

Yaz is woken by a gentle clicking. She opens her eyes to a mess of blonde hair and the Doctor’s mouth, slightly open and breathing deep, sleep-filled breaths across her cheek. There’s a hand on her back and a leg slung over her own, holding her close. Yaz has never felt to utterly content, body tranquillised by the remains of her sleep and she thinks, for a brief moment, that she’d like to get used to waking up like this.

The clicking interrupts once more, a quiet melodic sound muffled by the duvet up about her ears. It travels through the air and solidifies in her mind: it’s the sound of a teaspoon knocking against a mug as someone stirs their morning tea.

_Fuck_.

Yaz freezes. Feet suddenly cold and the hand on her back clammy. She makes a slow roll, holding her breath as she turns. _Please be Sonya. Please be Sonya._

“Good morning, Yasmin,” Najia says slowly, perched on the opposite sofa arm, mug in hand. Her eyebrow arches as she takes a sip.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

“Um… Morning,” Yaz tries, voice scratchy with sleep. Her heart beats loud in her chest. _Can she tell I’m naked?_ Her mouth is dry and she feels a sickness curl in her gut. “I was just…” She starts and then sees the Doctor’s long, bare arm and shoulder wrapped around her waist and she knows she’s done for, the excuse dying on her lips.

Still, Najia’s eyebrows raise expectantly, eager to hear the tale Yaz was about to spin. She’s giving Yaz her best _‘I dare you to try and explain your way out of this one’_ look and Yaz suddenly feels 15 again. Words flash and die in her mind’s eye and all she can do is swelter under Najia’s stare.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, Sonya appears, still in her pyjamas, with an exclamation primed and ready.

“Oh my god,” she starts and it’s loud enough to wake the Doctor. “Are you actually kidding me Yaz?”

“What’s goin’ on?” The Doctor mumbles sleepily, curling into Yaz tighter. Yaz wishes she had time to appreciate how cute it is.

“You knew about this?” Najia turns to Sonya, still suspiciously calm. _Is she angry or not?_

“You didn’t?” Sonya shoots back and Yaz groans. “Did you not even look at them yesterday? It were like an episode of Glee.”

“Oh my god,” she mutters, rubbing her eyes with her hands. “Can everyone get out please—Doctor!!” She yanks up the covers when she turns to see the Doctor propped up on an elbow, hair a mass of erratic blonde and the sheet down around her ribs.

“Oh sorry, always forget about those,” she scrunches her sleepy face and holds the sheet up. Twisting under the covers, she picks up her camisole with her toe, drawing it up the bed before pulling it over her head. Yaz looks at the two sets of pyjama haphazardly thrown about the room and cringes at the explicit story they tell.

“I am so tweeting about this,” Sonya snorts to their right and covers her mouth with her hand. “Has Dad come down yet?” She suddenly looks up, a gleeful smile on her face like she’s excited about the prospect of further humiliation.

The thought of Hakim joining this little gathering sends another wave of dread through Yaz. “No!” She sits. “Please, please can you just go?” She begs, desperate to get dressed.

“Suddenly self conscious, are we?” Najia asks as she stands, heading into the kitchen. “Should’ve thought about that before stripping off in the middle of my living room really, shouldn't you?” Even she can’t hold back a small chuckle when she sees Yaz’s mortified expression. “You better be quick, he’ll be down in a minute.”

As if on cue, the step at the top of the stairs creaks and Yaz feels her heart drop for the fourth time that morning. “Shit,” she mutters, gathering up the sheets. The Doctor’s managed to dress herself under the covers, wriggling about beneath the sheets, so she rips them off her and cloaks herself in them.

She wobbles when she gets up, standing on the end on the duvet and nearly tripping. She can hear Hakim’s decent and she picks up her pace, picking up the trail of duvet and departing in a high-speed waddle down the corridor.

Even the Doctor is joining in with Najia and Sonya’s stifled laughs as Yaz comes face to face with Hakim in the middle of the hallway.

“Yaz?”

“Morning!” She calls with a faux-cheery air but not stopping to chat, heading straight to her room, dragging the cumbersome duvet behind her.

“So that’s what a penguin with its arse on fire looks like,” the Doctor comments and Yaz just catches Sonya’s burst of laughter before her bedroom door slams shut.

She flops on her bed in a tumble of sheets and limbs and lets out an awful groan. _I’m gonna die,_ she thinks. _I’m actually gonna die._

* * *

When Yaz hesitantly reenters the kitchen, finally fully dressed in an old turtle neck and black jeans,

her family are sat around the table as Hakim cooks. It’s a familiar scene but the Doctor’s presence, sat at the kitchen table, sipping tea and gesticulating wildly, is new. She’s got a big smile on her face, enraging them all in apparently fascinating conversation and she doesn’t seem at all concerned about the visible bruises on her left thigh.

Yaz winces and clears her throat.

“Hi, morning,” she smiles awkwardly at her family, ignoring Sonya’s merciless grin at her attire.

“Morning, love. Omelette?” Hakim asks from the cooker, whisking his eggs in a jug. His voice is light and friendly, no signs of an ensuing stand-off present.

“Um, the Doctor should probably get going, actually,” she says, shooting her a look to encourage her to get ready.

“Right, yeah. Busy day, me. Lots of things to be getting on with,” she claims.

Najia lets out a little sigh and rolls her eyes, seemingly conceding an internal battle. “Yaz, you don’t have to—”

“But I’ll be home tonight,” Yaz cuts her off. She can’t have this conversation now, not while her mother’s face is still so fresh in her mind and the Doctor is literally still wearing her silk pyjamas. She gives her mum a reassuring nod and she concedes once more, face softening. As much as she scolds and teases, she knows her mum wants to reassure her.

“I’ll get dressed then,” the Doctor says after looking between them. She slides out from the table and pads across the kitchen with her bare feet. She still looks so comfy and sleepy and soft. Yaz can’t wait to sink into some warm bed with her and finally breathe out. The thought sends a pang of something sweet through her chest.

With a flash of impulsivity and forged confidence, Yaz grabs the Doctor’s slender arm as she passes. The Doctor turns and looks at her expectantly, surely assuming Yaz will remind her to use the blue toothbrush and not the pink or maybe that her tops and trousers are folded on the hamper.

Yaz plants a firm, decisive kiss on the Doctor’s mouth. She lets out a little surprised noise but soon relaxes. The kiss only lasts a second but when Yaz pulls away with a smack the Doctor glances over at the Khans sheepishly. She seems to malfunction for a second, gazing between Yaz and her onlooking family in surprise.

Yaz turns abruptly and takes her seat at the table and the Doctor takes her cue and silently leaves in the other direction. Yaz doesn’t look up. She picks up the Doctor’s unfinished tea, wrapping her fingers around the mug, and pretends its the steam warming her cheeks rather than the delayed embarrassment. She takes a sip, the tea soothing her skipping heart. She feels alive. Feels like she wants to scream or laugh. _I just kissed her in front of everyone._ She used the mug to shield the massive smile that plagues her face from her family's looks.

Then, without acknowledging Najia’s restrained smile or Sonya’s gleeful grin or Hakim’s dumbfounded stare, egg dripping off his spatula onto the floor, she asks, “so what are you all up to today?”

**Author's Note:**

> hi!! if you’re 21+ and want to join a discord server all about thasmin, you can join here: https://discord.gg/kfGfJQ8
> 
> this is a new server and we’re still working out the kinks (pun intended) so please read the rules once you’ve joined and have fun!!
> 
> as always, thank you for reading!!


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